


The Heart Wants What It Wants

by sidneycarter



Category: Father Brown (2013)
Genre: Fluff, I am hopeless, Kissing, M/M, Romance, Sexual Tension, and also a little shit, anyway there is some saucy kissing in this fic but nothing more because i cant write ok, except its not really a bad thing at all he's just being an overdramatic hoe, felicia and sid are the greatest brotp, goodfellow is an angel, mentions of alcohol and being tipsy throughout, sid is a flirt, slight mention of felicia x flambeau, sullivan has done gone done a bad thing, sullivan is a mess, there is cuddling in this fic, when is he not
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-04
Updated: 2020-07-04
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:27:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25078354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sidneycarter/pseuds/sidneycarter
Summary: A party at Montague House takes an unexpected turn when Inspector Sullivan does something he really shouldn't.
Relationships: Sid Carter/Inspector Sullivan
Comments: 15
Kudos: 69





	The Heart Wants What It Wants

**Author's Note:**

> ok this is my first properly published non-tumblr post fic. scary.  
> i hope you like it! i've been meaning to write sid x sullivan for ages, and i have several more stories in the works because i love them so much as a pair. 
> 
> im not a very good writer so please excuse any glaring plot holes. i dont know if i've explained enough backstory but please just imagine theres been lots of buildup to this moment ok i dont know what im doing. this is also sickly sweet but maybe a little angsty because sullivan is a dramatic hoe who is always in his feelings about sum shit. but rest assured its all alright in the end.
> 
> thank you to everyone on tumblr in this tiny little father brown fandom for cheering me on and giving me advice/ideas! you are all fantastic, majestic beings and i adore you 
> 
> idk if i've got the characters or the story right in this but i hope its ok. this hasnt been proofed or even spellchecked because its 00:51am my time and i want to get this baby out in the world before i can panic, decide its rubbish and then delete it all. I HOPE YOU LIKE READING IT AS MUCH AS I LIKED WRITING IT.

Inspector Thomas Sullivan has done something terrible. Truly, truly, terrible. 

The panic and fear washes over him in waves. He grips the cold, metal railing that runs along the patio and downs his drink. He needs to get out of here. He needs to find Goodfellow - hopefully he isn’t too drunk - and he needs to get him to take him _away._

It isn’t that Lady Felicia’s party hasn’t been fun. She is a charming host, and it was very gracious of her to invite him and the Sergeant in the first place. It was all going so well until Sullivan made a mistake, a slip up, that he promised himself he _never_ would. 

Sullivan pinches his nose and takes a deep gulp of air. A balmy summer evening has given way to a night with a mercifully cooler edge. Sullivan is grateful for it as he tries to get a grip of himself. 

He’s debating whether he should just run. Surely it wouldn’t be so hard to sprint through the Montague’s manicured gardens and back to Kembleford? He takes a wobbly step forward, but immediately sees the flaw in his plan. He’s tipsy. Shouldn’t have downed that dratted whisky in panic. 

Behind him, the french doors rattle open. Sullivan turns with a start. 

It’s Lady Felicia. She looks stunning, as usual, her muff wrapped around her shoulders to keep the chill off. “Inspector!” She cries cheerily, “There you are! We’ve been looking for you everywhere.” 

Sullivan’s heart seizes as he wonders just who exactly constitutes ‘we’. 

“We’ve headed through to the drawing room - there’s still plenty of room for dancing but a few of the peripheral guests have left now so it’s a little more private. We’re going to go for dessert soon.” 

“You Ladyship I really can’t — I really don’t think I should, I should leave, really —“ 

“Nonsense!” Felicia exclaims. “You are most welcome to stay. You are a valued guest of mine, and I treasure your company, unlike some of the poor excuses Monty has for friends.” She rolls her eyes and takes a sip of her cocktail. 

A faint smile drifts across Sullivan’s face. Begrudgingly, he must admit that Flambeau is perhaps good for her. She seems a lot more genuinely happy, and confident. 

Felicia is still talking, her train of thought travelling far faster than Sullivan’s sluggish mind can keep up with. He manages to tune back in as she loops her arm through his. She pats his arm and begins tugging him back in to the house. “Come on, how on Earth could you think about not staying?” 

As they head through the hallway, Sullivan’s face twists into a wry smile. He isn’t quite sure how she would react to _“Well, your Ladyship, I just kissed your chauffeur.”_

The sounds and chatter of the ongoing party get louder as the approach the drawing room. Sullivan pushes the door open for Felicia, and immediately sets about scanning the room for Goodfellow. That’s the best plan he has for the rest of the night. Stick to the Sergeant like glue, and hope he keeps him out of trouble. 

Sullivan thinks he catches a flash of green out the corner of his eye, but pushes it aside instantly when he spies the Goodfellow talking to Bunty across the room. 

He makes a beeline for his sergeant, but takes a brief detour to the cocktail cabinet to top up his whisky. He realises it’s probably a bad move, but for all that can be said about Monty he certainly has exceptional taste in alcohol. It would be a shame to let them go to waste. 

As he goes to pour, another tumbler is placed beside Sullivan’s on the mahogany top. For a moment he freezes. 

He relaxes only fractionally when a familiarly smug voice asks for a fresh glass too. _Flambeau_. 

Sullivan is not entirely comfortable around the man. He’s becoming gradually used to his presence, given the increasing amount of time he spends working alongside, rather than against, Father Brown and his motley crew. But he just can’t quite shake the irony of the police inspector and the internationally wanted art thief being in cahoots. Father Brown assures him that Flambeau is a largely reformed character these days, but then again he’s said that about Sid and Sullivan had him in his cells only last week. 

Flambeau raises his glass in thanks after Sullivan pours for him. He takes a sip, and narrows his eyes as he looks out across the room. “It appears you have an admirer.” He drawls. 

Sullivan’s hand clenches around his glass. This is another reason he’s wary of Flambeau. He always manages to steer the conversation in the direction Sullivan absolutely wants to avoid. “I— I don’t know what you mean.” 

Sergeant Goodfellow is standing just yards away. He’s talking to Father Brown as well now. Relative safety is only a few steps away, but Sullivan can feel that he’s still in deep water. 

Flambeau casts a side eye over him. “My nephew, I suppose. He’s been staring at you all evening. He follows you around the room with his eyes. Rather like the Mona Lisa.” He darts a look at the Inspector again. “No, I haven’t stolen it. I’ve never even tried. You must stop looking so… tense whenever I mention any great work of art. I fear you’re becoming predictable.”

Sullivan is tense for rather a different reason. He looks in the direction of Flambeau’s gaze and finds that he is right. Sidney Carter is watching him, intently so. 

He snaps his eyes away. He feels caught, just like he had been less than an hour ago. 

He hadn’t intended to go snooping. He had accepted the invitation to the Montague party in completely good faith. He was going to show up entirely off duty. An unlocked office down an empty hallway, however, had provided just a bit too much temptation. 

Sullivan was _certain_ that Lady Felicia had swiped a crucial piece of evidence about a robbery-arson case. Father Brown, unsurprisingly, had been caught snooping at the scene, and there had been too many opportunities for Her Lightfingered Ladyship to sneak documents into her handbag when Goodfellow’s back was turned. 

That had been several weeks ago, and they were no closer to solving the case without fresh evidence. Sullivan had seized his opportunity, leaving the hum of the party behind him, and had crept curiously down the poorly lit corridor.

The study door had opened and closed with a distinctive _click-clack_. Not a particularly loud sound, but enough to make Sullivan wince as he had tried not to draw attention to himself.

The lighting had been dim, the room lit only by a few curved oil lamps, but it was easy enough to see. The thick curtains had been drawn across the windows and the books lining the walls produced a cosy, snug effect. 

In the centre of the room stood what he presumed was Monty’s desk, a beautiful old thing made of finely polished wood. He had set about rifling through the drawers immediately, searching for anything that looked remotely like it had been in a recent house fire. 

He’d been on the bottom drawer, and fast giving up hope of finding anything of use, when the door had clicked open and then shut again. _Click-clack_. Sullivan had frozen, crouched by the office chair, and hoped whoever had come in would be paying the study a flying visit. Maybe they’d leave just as quickly as they’d entered. 

What he hadn’t counted upon was the person strolling over to the desk, laying their hands flat on the smooth wooden surface and leaning over. “Well, well, well.” 

“Carter.” Sullivan had said, standing quickly. _Drat_. Well and truly caught. 

Sidney Carter had smirked. “Are you breaking and entering, Inspector?” 

“The door was unlocked.” Sullivan had answered reflexively. 

Sid’s smirk turned more in to a grin. “And that makes it alright, does it? Snooping round Her Ladyship’s private offices when you’re supposed to be attending one of her parties?” 

Sullivan had moved as if to leave, but Sid had stepped in to his path. 

“Oh no,” He’d grinned smugly, “You’re not going _anywhere_ until you tell me what you were looking for.” 

“I don’t have to tell you anything, Carter.”

Sid had been looking far too pleased with himself. “Oh, I beg to differ. Need I remind you that as an _officer of the law_ , you’re not supposed to be breaking it,” Sid had taken a step forward, challenging. “That’s my job.” He added with a wink. 

“Move out of the way please, Carter.” Sullivan had said, swallowing thickly. It was becoming increasingly hard to maintain eye contact, and he felt something akin to shame as he lowered his gaze. He’s an _Inspector_ , for goodness sake. He should be better than this. 

But there is something about Carter that gets under Sullivan’s skin, and it has done for a very long time. There’s a crackling tension between them that ignites every time they’re in the same space for too long, and the only way they can subdue it is by taking shots at each other. Sullivan always feels that squirming feeling in the pit of his stomach when he looks at Carter for too long, and he absolutely hates it. He hates it because he knows exactly what it means, and he _will not_ allow himself to feel anything even remotely like attraction towards Sidney Carter. 

There was a distinct problem with that in a situation like this.

_“_ And what if I don’t move, hm? You gonna arrest me?” Sid said, licking at the corner of his mouth and chuckling. 

Their faces were far too close. Sullivan could smell the sweet warmth of Sid’s cologne and it had made his mouth water. This was getting dangerous now. He was a little sleepy, a little tipsy, and his patience and self control were fast dwindling. 

“Need I remind _you,_ Carter, that you are currently wanted for questioning in regard to half of the petty crimes committed in Kembleford in the last month and a half. I have every right to arrest you right here for them _.”_

Sid’s smile had been teasing, and Sullivan had had a horrible feeling that he was somehow reading his mind and all the bad, bad thoughts in it. “How many times have you had the chance to arrest the Father and I if you really wanted to? Loads. But you never do. Sure, you pull _me_ in every now and then for a night in the cells, but you never pin anything on me. I’m starting to think you’ve got a soft spot for me, Thomas.” 

“ _Don’t_ call me that.” Sullivan had snapped. 

Sid looks pleased with himself. “Why not? You prefer something else, buttercup?” 

The heat had started crawling hot and itchy up Sullivan’s throat. His heart was pounding, Sid Carter was _too close_ , and apparently now all Sullivan could do was stare at his lips. Sid had been starting to hit far too close to the bone, far too close to the truth, and it had been hugely unsettling.

“You can’t— call me that because I— I’m an Inspector.” 

“Ah, city boy likes his titles does he?” Sid had continued to crowd in to Sullivan’s space. Sullivan had been determined not to back down, had tried to stand his ground against all of his instincts, but this had just been bringing them ever closer. 

Now Sullivan’s head had started spinning. Watching Sid’s pretty mouth form these words, no matter how poison-tipped, was making him weak at the knees. He couldn’t find a response. He couldn’t think at all. There was too much and yet too little; Sid was too close and yet too far. The air was so thick around them that it was too hot and too cold, and it had been suddenly extremely hard to breathe. 

And it was then, in that moment, that Inspector Thomas Sullivan’s life went horribly, horribly wrong. 

Sid was watching him closely, even closer than he had before. His eyes were bright and hypnotic, even when bathed in the warm glow of the lamplights. And then with his tone low and sweet, but still with that hint of challenge, he said “Are you going to kiss me, Inspector?” 

And Sullivan did. 

He’d only had to lean in by a matter of inches. The slightest of movements and the slightest tilt of his head had caused his lips to press softly into Sid’s. His eyes had slipped closed for a moment and that squirm in his stomach hatched into a flutter of butterflies. For a few blissful, blissful seconds, Sullivan could think of nothing else in the world. He had basked in the feeling of calm and contentment washing over him, and for a moment he could almost pretend that this was a normal and regular occurrence. 

And then he had remembered where he was and what he was doing. With a horrified gasp, Sullivan had wrenched himself away. For a second he’d stood bewildered, gaping at Sid standing before him with flushed cheeks and glassy eyes. 

Then he ran. He ran out of the room as fast as he possibly could, swallowing down the lump in his throat. He hadn’t stopped running until he’d reached the patio. That was how he’d ended up there, with a hand pressed to his thudding heart, and regret stinging at the back of his eyes. 

And now he’s here, standing in the middle of a bustling party, with Hercule Flambeau’s eyes searching his face and Sid Carter watching him like a hawk. So much has happened in such a short space of time it makes his head hurt. 

“I don’t know what you’ve done,” Flambeau says, cocking an eyebrow and gesturing vaguely in Sid’s direction, “but he’s rather enthralled.” 

Sullivan feels sick. Too much whisky and too much Sid Carter. Blessedly, before he has to try and formulate a decent response to Flambeau, something actually goes right in Sullivan’s life. Sergeant Goodfellow ambles over with Father Brown in tow. He’s not sure if it’s the whisky talking, but the Father definitely appears to have a glowing halo above his head. 

Sullivan decides to take a few gulps more, just to check, and winces only slightly when his head spins. 

He tries to hold polite conversation and bring some semblance of normality back to this night. He suspects he isn’t being particularly successful, given the odd, almost sympathetic looks Father Brown throws at him occasionally. He can only hope that Goodfellow, wonderful Goodfellow, will cover for him as usual. 

As much as he tries to ignore it, his mind is constantly tracking Sid’s location around the room. Heisn’t playing his usual charismatic charm card, like he was earlier in the night. He either stands on his own in the corner, watching, or he sticks fairly close to either Lady Felicia. Earlier, Sullivan had spotted him having a hushed conversation with Bunty in the corner, and he’d wondered what is was about. Perhaps it was about him.

As their groups circulate round the room, there are always moments of tension when they enter each other’s space. Sometimes it’s a few fleeting seconds of eye contact, other times a brush of shoulders as they pass. Each time it looks like their groups are coming dangerously close to intersecting, Sullivan takes evasive action and either darts off to refill drinks or to head to the men’s room. 

He’s still praying that he’s carrying it off flawlessly, but he’s now certain Father Brown knows something is up, as he insists on following him every time he goes to the drinks cabinet. 

Sullivan is tired now. Weary. He just wants to collapse into his bed and sleep for several years and hopefully wake up with no memory of this night or how Sid Carter’s lips taste. 

It’s not until the clock draws near 2am that the majority of the guests leave. As luck would have it, the party rapidly dwindles down to just the skeleton crew - Father Brown and his dubious associates, plus Sullivan and the Sergeant. 

Sullivan sees a light at the end of the tunnel. He’s going to be sleeping this headache off for days, though. He’s trying to think of a polite way to bid his farewells without making eye contact with Sid when Lady Felicia sweeps over to them. “Look, my darlings, why don’t you all stay the night here? We’re all a little tipsy,” She wiggles her eyebrows and raises her glass, “And there’s plenty of room in this enormous old place.” 

Sullivan feels horror seize him, and he is about to protest that really, he must get home, when all the alcohol of the night really decides to hit him once more. He looks over at the Sergeant, and while it’s difficult to tell given that Goodfellow usually spends his life beaming, he thinks he is a little tipsy too. 

Sullivan clenches his jaw and tries to make his peace with the only option he can take. He has a horrid feeling he’ll live to regret this. “The Sergeant and I would be very grateful, Lady Felicia.” 

Bunty cheers, and Sullivan could swear she nudges Sid with her elbow. 

“Oh, goodie!” Felicia cries, handing her drink to Flambeau, who grins at her adoringly. “Hornby will show you to your rooms. Sleep well, my darlings!”

* * *

Sullivan’s room for the night is beautiful. He’d heard earlier from Mrs McCarthy that Lady Felicia did most of the interior design herself, and he must commend her. The deep blue walls are calming and relaxing, and the majestic four poster bed, laden with fresh linen, looks more than appealing after the night’s events. 

Sullivan strips off his jacket and waistcoat. He folds them neatly and leaves them on the back of a plush armchair in the deafening silence of the room. 

He’s just set about loosening his tie and unbuttoning the first couple of buttons of his shirt when a series of quick, sharp knocks rap against his door. Before he can even permit the enquirer to enter, the door swings open and Sid walks in. 

He’s still in his uniform, although his jacket is unbuttoned all the way. He shuts the door behind him, gently but with purpose, before he turns back to Sullivan. 

Sullivan gulps, subconsciously squeezing the knot of his tie in his palm. He feels very exposed, both literally and emotionally. While he’s still technically clothed and not indecent, his precise style of dress is something of an armour he hides behind. _No one_ sees him looking anything less than immaculate, so that even his tie being loosened in Sid’s presence feels odd. 

“You’ve been ignoring me all night.” Sid is watching him, but his face is almost impossible to read. His voice is low and croaky from a night of talking, and Sullivan hates how it makes his heart stutter. 

“No I haven’t.” Sullivan says on instinct, although he knows his attempt at covering for himself will be fruitless given that he most definitely _has_ been avoiding Sid all night. 

Sid laughs thinly and breaks eye contact. “Now, we both know that isn’t true.” 

Sullivan looks around uncomfortably. He has no idea what to say; no idea whether to address the kiss or not. He presumes that is what Sid is here to talk about, but he couldn’t think of anything he’d like to talk about less at this point. Too many of his vulnerabilities have been exposed by his one moment of madness. 

Sid doesn’t say anything else, and Sullivan finds himself talking just to fill the silence. It’s an old interrogation technique, and it unnerves him to think that Sid has probably learnt it from _him_. “W-What would you say if I said I _was_ avoiding you?” He twists his hand in the untucked side of his shirt nervously. 

“I would want to know why. So I’d ask you.” Sid cocks his head to the side. “Why have you been ignoring me all night?” 

Sullivan frowns. He feels Sid is being intentionally difficult. “Because… I kissed you.” It comes out as nothing more than a whisper. He can’t bring himself to admit it any louder than that. 

“You did.” Sid says, raising an eyebrow. “ _And_ you didn’t give me the chance to kiss you back.” 

Sullivan’s eyes snap up from where they’d taken to tracing the intricate patterning of the carpet. “What?” 

Sid folds his hands behind his back and takes a few cautious steps forward. “I said, you didn’t give me the chance to kiss you back. You ran away.” 

“I- I don’t — I don’t know what you — what am I supposed to…” Sullivan’s train of thought trails away from him and he clutches nervously as his shirt again. 

Sid looks at him plainly. “ _Why_ did you kiss me?” He presses. 

“I - You — _You_ suggested it!” It sounds unconvincing even to Sullivan’s ears, even if it is technically the truth. 

“I suggested it?” The smirk is back, and Sid continues his journey forwards until they’re standing very close again, just like they were in the study. 

“Y-Yes.” 

“I haven’t got time for games, Inspector.” Sid’s eyes flicker to Sullivan’s lips and then trail down his exposed throat. “ _Why_ did you kiss me?” 

Sullivan is too tired for this. The rational side of his brain is screeching at him that this is a bad idea, but it makes no attempt to stop him. With a deep sigh, he says, “I kissed you because I _wanted_ to. Because I feel things that I shouldn’t when I look at you. Because I’ve thought about kissing you before.” He finishes with an affirmative nod. _There. I said it._

Sid, infuriatingly, makes no comment on Sullivan’s confession. “And why did you run away?” 

Sullivan’s voice drops to a whisper again. They’re too close for anything louder now anyway. “I didn’t know if you’d want to kiss me. I didn’t want to wait and find out in case the answer was no.”

Sid’s eyelids flutter softly, and he seems to consider the declaration. “Do you know what I would’ve done if you’d stayed, Inspector?” 

“What?” Sullivan snaps. Considering Carter said he wasn’t here to play games, he certainly feels like he’s being toyed with. 

“I would have kissed you back,” Sid crooks a finger under Sullivan’s chin and gently nudges it up so he has to look at him. “I would have pressed you against the nearest wall and kissed you like I’ve never kissed anyone before.” 

Heat floods Sullivan’s face. His mouth is dry, and he isn’t entirely certain he’s hearing correctly. Sid’s knuckles are still caressing the stubble at his jaw and he thinks the room may be spinning. Perhaps he’s already asleep. Dreaming. Yes, he must have passed out on the bed in his suit. This is just some hyperrealistic nighttime incarnation of his wildest, unbidden fantasies. 

And because it’s dream world, and there are no rules in dream world, Sullivan hears himself saying, “Well I wish you would have done.” And then he laughs slightly, because really this situation is _absurd_. He can’t believe he ever thought he was doing anything other than dreaming. 

“I still might.” Sid’s voice is so low it rumbles. 

“Would you?” 

“ _Yes_.” 

This time, it is Sid who leans forward, taking Sullivan’s face into his hands and drawing their lips together. 

Sullivan is suddenly not so sure he is dreaming. The fire that erupts from the pit of his stomach is scorching, and the way it spreads outwards, across his skin and down his nerve endings, feels far too powerful for anything his mind could concoct. 

His hands grab at the fabric of Sid’s shirt as Sid’s hands slide in to his hair, and he’s being walked backwards, slowly, until his back is pressed firmly against the wall. 

Sid holds him there with the weight of his body, pressing into him and deepening the kiss in ways Sullivan never realised was possible before. 

Sid’s lips soon grow impatient and start to crawl along Sullivan’s jaw, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses along the curve of the bone and then down his neck, before his tongue sears a hot line back up so their lips can tangle again. 

Sullivan’s hands have slid under Sid’s dress shirt, needing to feel the heat of his skin to know that this is really real. He starts getting greedy then, roughly pushing Sid’s jacket off his shoulders and fisting a hand into the back of his hair. It’s so soft between his fingers, and Sullivan’s head knocks back against the wall as Sid’s teeth nip playfully at the join between his neck and his ear. 

They’re both behaving entirely inappropriately, panting for breath like they’re men starved, and no matter how much their mouths try to wander they can never keep away from each other’s lips for long. 

Their pace gradually starts to ebb - the initial flash of heat dying down to a slower, steadier and more passionate warmth that spreads through their chests like brandy on a cold day. There’s still a little desperation laced into the kiss, like they’re afraid to let each other go, but now there’s more time for them to relax and explore each other’s mouths with gentle caresses. 

Their little bubble of privacy is quickly burst when the door swings open for a second time that night.

They both freeze, still tangled in each other’s embrace. 

“I say, well _done_ Sidney!” Lady Felicia stands in the doorway wearing one of her fancy silky robes. The hot chocolate she holds in her hands is steaming, and the grin on her face is blinding. 

Sid stands protectively over Sullivan, and Sullivan is grateful for the attempt at sparing his blushes. It isn’t working, however, so he can only press his burning face into Sid’s collarbone. 

There’s a disgruntled note to Sid’s voice and he looks up to the heavens with what Sullivan presumes is a hearty eye-roll. “Can’t you knock? We’re busy.” 

“I only came in to ask the Inspector what he wanted for breakfast tomorrow morning. We’re telling the chef now so he knows how much to prepare.” Felicia says, her face a picture of innocence. She leans round slightly and tries to make eye contact with Sullivan. 

“More like enjoying walking in on handsome men changing for the night.” Sid grumbles, rolling his eyes. His hands subconsciously tighten at Sullivan’s waist. 

“Now, now Sidney, you know I’m better than that. There’s no need to be jealous. Hercule is more than enough to keep me satisfied.” She shoots a wink at him and Sid grimaces. “Inspector? Would you like a full English in the morning?” 

Sullivan clears his throat as best he can, hoping that his voice is still holding together. He peeks timidly over Sid’s shoulder. “Yes, please, Your Ladyship.” 

“Pah! None of that ‘Your Ladyship’ nonsense, _please_ , call me Felicia, darling. By the looks of it you’re a part of the family now!” She gestures cheekily at Sid, who still has an arm firmly anchored around Sullivan’s waist. 

Sullivan can tell Sid is starting to get impatient with Felicia’s presence by the way he’s clenching his jaw. There’s no doubting Sid’s endless love for her, but the fire in his eyes indicates he can think of things he’d rather be doing at this second in time. It’s another subconscious and possibly inappropriate urge that encourages Sullivan to press a soothing hand to his chest. 

Sid looks down at him searchingly and his eyes soften. 

Felicia is watching them fondly. She can recognise that they perhaps need some space, and a meaningful look in Sid’s direction tells him that she’ll keep quiet about this. 

Sullivan has noticed this about Sid and Felicia. How they have these silent conversations. While he’s never worked out exactly what they’re saying, the tenderness painted across Felicia’s face as she quietly bids them good night reassures him a little. 

Felicia tells them to get up at their own pace tomorrow, before bidding them goodnight and retreating from the room, closing the door softly behind her. 

Sullivan’s heart thuds madly in his ears. They’re alone together again, but much of his previous confidence has drained away now the heat of the moment has passed. “I— I think— um, thank you. That was… nice.” 

The rather unconventional comment startles a laugh from Sid. “I’m glad you thought so. I thought it was nice too. Bit more than nice, actually.” 

“W-Would you— I mean, I don’t think we- I wouldn’t want— would you stay?” Sullivan is terrified. His own feelings have crept up on him and he’s never felt so strongly for someone in his whole life. All he knows is that after _that_ he feels too selfish to say goodbye to Sid, even if it is for the night. 

“With you? Of course.” Sid answers, without any stress, or worry, or inner turmoil. Sullivan wonders how he manages to go through life being so laid-back. “There another type of Full English you’re after in the morning?” Sid adds salaciously and with a wink. 

Sullivan swats him lightly on the arm, his face flushing beet-red again. 

“Hey! Hey! I’m joking!” Sid laughs, half-heartedly fending off the attack. After consideration, he clarifies, “Well, I’m half joking.” 

Sullivan giggles like a love-struck schoolgirl, and if it didn’t feel so nice he’d be having some serious issues with Carter about to ruin his life. Once he settles again, he takes a deep, steadying breath. “I— We should talk, really, about… this, I have— I want to say some things but I- Not now because it’s all rather… a lot and I—“ 

“And we’re both tired and needing a good night's rest.” Sid says, cupping Sullivan’s jaw with hands and looking him in the eye. “It’s alright.” 

Sullivan thinks he understands. His heart flutters at the thought. 

The atmosphere is a little odd as they ready themselves quickly for bed. There’s obviously a clear attraction between them, and they’ve acknowledged it quite passionately earlier, but at the same time there’s so much more to be said.

It is Sid who holds back the covers for them as they crawl in to the bed. They take a few moments of shuffling and fidgeting to get themselves comfortable, and then the lights are put out and they’re left lying side by side, unspeaking, in the darkness. 

Sullivan squeezes his eyes shut, his whole body tense. He can feel Sid’s warmth next to him and he desperately wants to curl up in to it, but he doesn’t know if that’s right. He’s so far out of his depth but his heart doesn’t seem to care, and it aches to nestle into Sid and feel that protection and safety. 

Sid’s voice pipes up in the darkness. It sounds thick and sleepy already. “Can I kiss you goodnight?” 

Sullivan finds it impossible to verbalise just how much he would like that. “Yes.” He says in a hushed whisper. 

Even in the dark, there seems to be some magnetic force that helps them to find each other. 

Sid’s lips press against Sullivan’s, somehow both firmly and softly, in a chaste but meaningful kiss that breaks apart with a soft suction. 

They settle back down again, and Sullivan lies ramrod straight on his back, staring up at the ceiling. He twists his hands anxiously in the bed sheets, trying to prevent them reaching out and touching Sid. 

It’s surprising then, when Sid’s hand starts patting around in the darkness, feeling around the bed clothes until it comes into contact with Sullivan’s shoulder. “Hey… wher’re you? Where’d you go?” His voice is muffled, like he’s got his face smushed in to the pillow already. 

Sullivan gently holds the hand that’s searching for him. “I’m here.” He whispers. 

“Hmph.” Sid sighs. He sounds halfway asleep already. “Y’re not close ‘nough. C’mere.” 

Sullivan gives in trying to deny himself what he really wants. He snuggles back in to Sid’s arms, sighing in contentment when they wrap around him tightly, pulling him in close. 

Sid presses gentle, sleepy kisses to the back of Sullivan’s neck. “This’s better.” 

“Good night.” Sullivan whispers, brushing his lips across the top of Sid’s arm.

“Goo’ night.” Sid replies, nuzzling into Sullivan’s hair.

It’s sweet, and it’s precious, and it feels like the beginning of something truly wonderful. 

Within moments, Sullivan’s eyelids become heavy. It only takes him moments to drift off into a deep, peaceful sleep. 

**Author's Note:**

> if you made it this far, thank you!! if you have time to leave a comment i would be very very grateful ;-;  
> my tumblr is @/sidneycarter if you'd like to drop by!


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